


Why Me

by safety_dancer



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Crack Fic, Don't Ask, Gen, Ra's' obsession with Tim is very amusing to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safety_dancer/pseuds/safety_dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bruce, I'm three hundred precent done with this. With him. Why me. What did I do to deserve this? I'm a good person, B."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Me

**Author's Note:**

> A friend and I were joking about this, then this happened.

Okay, so today wasn't one of Tim's best days, to be perfectly honest. First off, he had gotten less than three hours of sleep in the past two days. He was basically running purely on caffeine and will power; the later of which dwindling quickly. Second; he was majorly behind in his W.E. paperwork, a fact that Tam had called to remind him of,  _ twice.  _ That bad. The third reason-

“Evening, Detective.”

-Was sitting in his living room. Tim gaped, honestly thinking he was dreaming-- or having a horrible,  _ horrible  _ nightmare. Ra's al Ghul was  _ sitting in his living room _ , looking unfairly regal and all-too-relaxed as he reclined against Tim's sofa. 

If he was here to kill him, Tim was too exhausted to care. He would accept this as his time. 

“I am not here to kill you, Timothy.”

And apparently he was talking out loud. He needed a nap, like, one that lasted at least 15  _ uninterrupted _ hours. “How did you get in my house?” he asked, then; “Nevermind, that was a stupid question. Uhm.” Tim let out a loud, put-upon sigh, dropping his briefcase and glancing briefly at the Superman-themed analog clock that rested over his mantle: 12:45am. Honestly it was  _ too late for this crap _ .

“So like, why are you here? I'm pretty sure I haven't blown up any more of your bases in the past year? ish? And if you're here about the last ones, I'm just gonna say; you need to let it go. Doesn't do well to hold grudges.” 

Ra's arched one fine brow, his aristocratic features showing the barest hints of amusement. Which-- what? “You've been neglecting your personal needs of late, Timothy, don't bother trying to deny it.”

“Wait, how the hell do you know- nope, ignore that too. Ninja. Cameras? Why are you so creepy. Go away.”

Ra's tsked --Tim was reminded of Damian-- standing then striding closer, his cloak billowing silently behind him. Tim took a step back, then another, until his back was being pressed against the wall and Ra's was towering over him, entirely too close for comfort but-- it didn't feel threatening. Tim was tense, though, as Ra's reached forward to gently grasp his chin, tilting his head up and side to side, studying him intently.

“You are going to become sick if you keep this up,” Ra's murmurs, releasing Tim and stepping away. Tim allows himself to breathe, unaware that he had even been holding his breath. “You need sustenance and rest.”

“Uh-”

“I've already had my men restock your kitchen-- which, by the way, was a depressing sight.” 

Tim held up a hand, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Nope. This wasn't happening. He'd been drugged or something. He wasn't lucid. He was highly fevered and hallucinating wildly. “Seriously wait. What is going on? Why aren't you holding a sword to my throat? Why aren't I being attacked by multitudes of ninja?” 

“As I said, I am not going to eliminate you. Obviously you cannot take care of yourself, so-”

“What are you, my dad? Y'know what, I'm too tired to deal right now. Leave. I need around twenty-four hours to process all this.” Tim slid past Ra's to sit down hard on the sofa, rubbing at his temples. “Oh and if I find  _ any  _ cameras when I take the time to search, I will seriously consider homicide.”

**~*¤*~**

_ So comfy,  _ Tim thought happily, curling deeper into his blankets and nestling further into the pillow. He felt so very  _ relaxed _ and  _ warm  _ and he was pretty sure he didn't want to move ever again.

Except he smelled something  _ amazing _ and he realized that he was pretty damn starving--

And wait. Why  _ did  _ it smell so good? He was at his apartment so it couldn't be Alfred cooking. 

Tim groaned, figuring he should probably get out of bed and investigate when his bedroom door opened and a  _ fricking ninja _ strode in, a large breakfast tray in hand. Tim's stomach growled traitorously at the smell that suddenly assaulted his nose. The scent of spice-rich coffee and fresh fruits and bread. 

“The Master wishes you a good morning, and asks that you try to consume everything that's been prepared for you,” the ninja murmured, setting the tray on Tim's lap, bowing and then disappearing out the door. 

Tim stared at the meal, about forty-five percent sure it was poisoned-

_ But it smelled so good. _

Tim hates his life.

**~*¤*~**

One of the Family is going to find out  _ very  _ soon at this rate. Tim doesn't think he can handle the embarrassment. Maybe death would come early and swiftly, as he slept. 

His face was currently the same shade of crimson as the bouquet of roses that graced his work desk. 

_ Work. _ His  _ home  _ was one thing, but here? where someone could  _ see? _ Someone just shoot him right now and end his misery before it got any worse.

Tam strode in, the heels of her shoes clicking against the tile flooring. She looked up from the pile of files and papers in her arms, and her steps stuttered as she stared at the flowers. “Who brought those in here?” She asked rather suspiciously, giving Tim a cursory look. 

Tim grimaced, resisting the urge to groan or hide his flaming face behind the binder he held. “You don't wanna know, Tam,” he muttered. He almost  _ heard  _ her eye-roll. 

“Want me to trash ‘em?” 

“Yes, please. Thanks.”

“You want the note?”

_ “No." _

**~*¤*~**

Bruce felt the oncoming headache and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “How long has this been going on, Tiger?”

“Uhm, five weeks maybe? Bruce, I'm three hundred percent done with this. With  _ him _ . Why me. What did I do to deserve this? I'm good person, B.”

Closing his eyes, Bruce pursed his lips to stifle a groan. Why, indeed. 

“Seriously like-- I find breakfast made every morning -it's never as good as Alfred’s- and if I don't sleep for like, two days, a ninja will come and take all my electronics and make me go to bed, unless it's ‘an emergency .’” Tim looked so positively put-out and aghast at this that Bruce couldn't help the upward twitch of his lips. The situation was rather funny in a  _ horribly twisted  _ way.

“Would you like to move back here until we deal with this, Tim?” Bruce asked, and Tim nodded affirmative, leaning his head against Bruce's chest with angry sigh.

“Yeah, I think that'd be best. Honestly, it needs to end before I either have a mental breakdown or hire Cass or Jason to kill him. I'm sure they'd enjoy it. I mean, I know it won't  _ stick _ , but-- it'll sure as hell  _ hurt _ .” 

Bruce snorted, wrapping one arm around his distraught son's shoulders. “We'll get this stopped soon enough, kiddo,” he reassured, hoping his words would be believed. 

  
Ra's al Ghul was a man not easily deterred.


End file.
